


steak dinner

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Prompt: what do Mulder and Scully do on a date night? Season of secret sex.





	steak dinner

“Amorphophallus titanum,” Mulder says brightly, lifting his arm over her head to push open the door to the little green house. He holds it while she steps inside, and brings his hand down to rest on the small of her back. “Otherwise known as the corpse plant.  Breaking the word down more literally, we are about to see a giant, misshapen peni–” 

Scully freezes, causing him to bump into her. He chuckles quietly into her hair and cups her waist with both hands. “A carrion flower, Mulder,” she says, tamping down the excitement in her voice, making it flat and unimpressed. But he knows her too well, squeezes her hip and urges her onward.

“You got it,” he replies. Everywhere they look is filled with green; the place smells green, tastes green, feels green when tillandila reach out and tickle their skin, leaving them itchy and tense. Humid and hot like a day in the swamp, chlorophyllic and thick, the humans are the odd ones out with their animal cells and dead skin fur. All but themselves and cacti sway in a light breeze. The orchids are soft, their petals like fine velvet, and pitcher plants, bulbous and droopy, waiting to be fed, look very displeased for having to do so. 

“They grow in the equatorial rainforests of southeast Asia,” he continues, pushing her down a dirt pathway. Knowing all of this she remains silent, finding a sweet satisfaction in letting him tither on. “They are notoriously difficult to cultivate, but thrive when cared for properly, beyond what could be expected out in the wild. The largest ever recorded grew to be around ten feet. Stacked and exotic and perfumed as she was, they named her Trudy.” They’re briefly sidetracked by a plant that curls in on itself as it brushes Mulder’s arm, and have a good time harassing all the others into a similar submission. “It was the official plant of Bronx in 1939, not to be replaced until 2000. They went with the day lily instead.”  


“I can’t imagine why they would change it,” she says. They come face to face with the flower.

“What a beaut,” Mulder whistles, peering down at it from over Scully’s shoulder.  


And it is a beautiful plant, the spadix climbing high over Scully’s head, just barely making acquaintance with Mulder’s full height. Smokey purples and deep dark reds, Scully decides it mostly looks the part. It reminds her of flesh before the rot, aged and tough. Still edible. The greens are yellowy caution colors, and the folds of it look dip-dyed in thick blood.  


“You know how long it takes for one of these to bloom, Scully?” Mulder asks conversationally. There’s no real scent distinguishable from the distance they keep. It smells slightly sweet, actually, a common deception of all creatures.  


“How long?”  Stepping closer, she stares into it’s gaping mouth, at all of its female parts. The stench hits her like a gust of hot wind. An evolutionary tactic to encourage pollination, it attracts bugs, flesh flies and carrion beetles, with its call of death in order to inspire life. She would compare it to cadavers picked up roadside after a nice long sun bath. Like spoiled, fatty meat and the soft cheeses her father loved so much.  


“Seven years,” Mulder says, but all romanticism is killed by the look on his face. He gags and pulls away, clamping a hand over his mouth. “Oh thass bad. Thass awpul,” he groans, doubling over.

“It is,” Scully nods. She leans in again.


End file.
